


55 things he loves about her

by RebelAce16



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Love, awesome epicness, cute fluffliness, otpness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 14,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelAce16/pseuds/RebelAce16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>55 things the Doctor loves about his River Song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She plays with her jewelry

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've posted this on Fanfiction.net, and I'm going to eventually post my other stories here, but this is my fiorst time here. But you don't care about that, so, enjoy le story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She plays with her jewelry

** She plays with her jewelry: **

   It’s the way she twists the rings around on her fingers and swaps them around, or fiddles with the bracelets she so rarely wears because they get in the way. She’ll sit at the desk to grade papers, or curl up with a book, or even just sitting there talking, and her fingers will be twirling her rings, sliding and flicking her bracelets, or winding in the chain of her necklace, sliding the charm around, until it eventually finds it’s way up to tap against her lip. Finally it’ll end up in her mouth, chain hanging, fingers still holding it until she needs her hand, then it starts all over again, and he could watch her for hours. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing half the time, and when she looks up to find him watching her, entranced, she’ll give him an odd, questioning look. So he’ll smile at her, and fiddle with something until she’s absorbed enough that it starts again.


	2. She's always got a song in her head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's always got a song in her head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, next chapter, and there should be 55 chapters, one for each thing.

** She's always got a song in her head: **

_Birds do it,_

It took him a while to realize it, but she literally always had a song in her mind.

_Bees do it,_

Sometimes she would just hum quietly, so quietly she almost wasn't. He usually didn't notice, but when they stop running, or she's curled into his side at night, he does.

_Let's do it._

Other times, she would sing under her breath. If he was silent enough, he would hear. Like he always heard her.

_Let's fall in love._

And others, it was just a comforting thing in the back of their minds. He could hear it filter through hers, and she's so used to it, she doesn't even notice the music anymore. But he does. He needs to hear it. It soothes him when he wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare with her wrapped tightly in his arms, sleepily playing a song in her head just for him. Or when he sees her in that _cell,_ and he knows that that's his fault, but then she'll pull him close, lay her head son his shoulder and then he'll her it. She'll hum a soothing lullaby, or sing him a love song, like the ones they'll hear at the clubs when he takes her out.

_Let's do it. Let's fall in love._

And then he knows, she's here, and it'll be alright.


	3. She's always wearing his clothes:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's always wearing his clothes:

**She's always wearing his clothes:**

It drove him insane sometimes. Others, he found it adorable, sexy, sweet, etc. He would go looking for a t-shirt to wear under his shirt, and it would be nowhere. Then, when he'd given up, he'd find it months later, in her bed at Stormcage, or tucked between the mattress and headboard of the bed they shared, where it'd probably fallen from her habit of tucking them under the pillows. Then he'd remember that she'd worn it to bed.

Or he'd wake up, and his button down wouldn't be on the floor, or chair, or even anywhere near. If she was still there, he'd see her pulling it on, if she wasn't he'd walkout in hastily pulled on pajama pants to see her at the table in his shirt.

Sometimes, she'd turn up in a pair of the jeans he kept around for casual days with her, or she'd be wearing one of his shirts as a dress, belted over leggings and guns. Still others she'd wear his boxers and muscle shirt to bed. Sometimes she'd even steal something of a previous regeneration from their personal wardrobe.

There was just something _right_ about River in his clothes. Seeing the way they dwarfed her, and hung on her frame, doing the impossible to make her almost delicate, woke something raw, and primitive in his chest that purred whenever he caught that sight. Because it was an obvious claim: _his_ wife, in _his_ clothes. Though if she ever caught wind of thoughts like those, she'd probably slap them out of his head. But it'd be worth it if she was wearing his clothes when she did it.


	4. Her Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her Hair

**Her Hair:**

She _hated_ it. He loved it. Loved how it went everywhere in the morning, how it frizzed when she used the vortex manipulator. He adored how it limited her headwear to almost nothing (Though in retrospect, that _could_ be why she was always killing his hats. They were just so cool! Why else would she kill them?!)and how it fanned across his chest when she lay on his chest at night. He loved her hair, because it was so _River._

She would sit on the bed after a shower, or while getting ready, with a comb and brush in either hand, attacking the curls, swearing that she was going to cut it short and straighten it permanently.

"But River," he'd protest frantically, "You can't!"

"And why not?" She'd demand irritatedly. So he'd grin and show her exactly why not.

"Because," he'd whisper, sweeping her hair back from her face. "Then I couldn't do this." He'd tangle his hands easily in the riotous mass and use it to gently tug her mouth to his. And there they'd stay instead of flailing about like they used to. Then he slide them down to her hips and back up again.

"I hate it when you do that," she whisper against his lips. "It makes me feel like agreeing to anything." Then he'd grin and tug the brush and comb from her hands. He'd settle behind her and start gently combing out each and every snarl before stroking the brush through it. Then he'd hug her from behind and bury his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of Time, of black raspberries, of vanilla, of cinnamon, the faint whiff of dirt, sweat, gunpowder, and laser-blasts.

What he loved most of all, was that her hair smelled like River. A unique scent he couldn't find anywhere else, and that wasn't that strong, that purely concentrated, even on her and her things except in her curls.


	5. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing

** Dancing: **

She'll sway along to the music in her head, she'll glide around the kitchen softly, she'll waltz around the console. When she calls him up on the psychic paper, half the time he ends up outside a club, or ball, or coronation, even a handful of weddings. She'd be waiting outside the doors, eyes glittering, with a big smile, and she'd grab his hand and drag him to the wardrobe.

Once they were dressed to her satisfaction, he'd offer his arm, she'd lace hers through it, and they'd step out. And she'd pull him close and they'd dance the night away. She fit perfectly in his arms and could move so in sync with him, sometimes he thought he was dreaming. Amy likened his dancing to a drunk giraffe, but with River, with River he was graceful. With River he could dance. With River, he had the best moves in the universe. He'd tango, waltz, paso doble, anything. As long as she was his dance partner.

Once, they'd gone to an intergalactic peace ball. A temporary alliance between most species in the universe. They'd danced the night away, and the next day they'd come across a paper. The front page was a shot of them. He had his arms around her, and he was resting his cheek on her head. She had her arms around his neck, her head burrowed into his chest. They looked so at peace, if it was only for a moment. The headline was: **I'd Dance All Night With** You. He smiled, and secretly saved the entire article, headline and photo included.

Her love of dancing was always one of his favorite things about her.


	6. Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her style

** Style: **

She always looked her best, even in jeans. She knew how to work her wardrobe, and her fashion sense was phenomenal. He'd let her choose his clothes every now and then, because it made her happy, and he always looked great then. But her style wasn't limited to her clothes. No, she oozed style when she played with her guns, or she played in the dirt, or when she flirted with him.

There was a certain style to her gun-slinging: a bold, fearless manner, yet protective of those she was loyal to those she loved, trusting it was right when she drew, and a cold, decisive one when she fired. That style defined her. It permeated everything she did, worked it's way into every corner of her being, because it was her. That style was simply how she did things: capable of being so cold, calculated, detached, and decisive, and far too trusting, too loyal, too loving, too protective, too fearless, too bold, for her own good.

But that was her. It was who she was. And he loved her for it.


	7. Her Sleep Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her sleep habits

** Her sleep ** ** habits: **

The first night she stayed over, he'd only talked her into it because she had a couple cracked ribs, and he had a couple nasty cuts. She said he'd need looking after. So he got her to sleep and he was right surprised when, as soon as he lay down, she rolled over and nestled into his side. He quickly wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled in. He drifted off that way and didn't wake for a while.

He woke to a sudden chill and realized the blankets were gone. He sat up groggily, only to stop when he heard a sleepy grumble and remembered River. He looked down to see her cocooned in the blankets. He tugged one gently and she whined and clung to it. He sighed. She was obviously warm, comfy, and in no mood to share. It was downright adorable. But he was cold. He considered it a minute before he came up with a solution.

He shifted River over so she was curled up in his arms tightly. After that she was quick to kick off the blankets and attempt to wriggle away. He held her tighter and rolled over so she was sprawled on his chest. She immediately went still and he hauled the blankets back up, burrowed his face in her curls, and fell fast asleep.

The next time he woke up to a mad tangle of blankets wrapped around them both.

Every night after that he learned something new about her: she was restless when one of them was hurt, but otherwise she slept like the dead. She was usually a light sleeper. She didn't go to bed without a cup of very sweet, very hot tea most nights. she liked to cuddle and steal blankets. She would hold entire conversations while fast asleep. And he'd never tell her any of it. And every night he fell farther in love with her.


	8. Sleeping at the Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sleeps at her desk

** Sleeping at the desk: **

He learned pretty quick that the old girl would take the brakes off if she wanted. And she wouldn't do it unless there was a chance of waking River. I.e., if River was anywhere near a desk. She had an adorable habit of falling asleep at her desk after working for several hours straight. The first time he'd showed up in her office, he was excited about taking her to Metalurica 4, and he was bouncy and loud, only to stop short at the sight of his not-yet-in-her-time-stream wife, lying with her cheek resting on a curled arm, the other flung out, a pen hanging limp in her fingers, hair splayed out all around her, sound asleep.

He tiptoed over to her, and laid a hand on her shoulder before hesitating. She looked so peaceful, no nightmares plaguing her dreams at the moment, he was loathe to wake her. Instead he slid his hand to her back, slid the other under her knees and easily scooped her up, carrying her to their bed, pillowing his head on her stomach and cuddling her close.

Another time, he was just tucking her under the afghan on the cozy couch in her office when a student came barging in, talking at an entirely unacceptable level. He could wake her! So he grabbed the boy, shoved him back into the classroom, and followed. Five minutes later, he went back to find his wife sleepily rubbing her eyes and yawning.

A lot of the time he'd o into her office on the old girl, only to find her sound asleep at the desk once more.

More often than not, if she was asleep at her desk, there was ink on her cheek, or a pen imprint somewhere. Once, she managed to upset a bottle of white out, and only get it on her hair and arm.

And each time, it never failed to make his hearts melt a little more.


	9. She's in His Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's always in his head

** in his head: **

The first few times he felt the faint brush of her mind, he thought he was imagining it. After all, only Timelords could do that. But it kept happening, when ever her control slipped: in the library, when she was yelling at him on the Byzantium, in the museum by the Pandorica, each instant only a second or two, but long enough.

Long enough.

Long enough for him to realize what it was. _Who_ it was. At first he couldn't believe it. Didn't dare _hope_. And then he was standing on Demon's Run, looking at the screen, _seeing_ the DNA of that little girl, and his mind automatically jumped to River, wondering if they had anything to do with her mental abilities, but he immediately rejected that thought, that possibility. And then he _knew_. She was standing there, smirking at him, and he _knew._ And then she didn't bother trying to stay out.

And, in turn, he let her in. Welcomed her into his mind. Actively sought hers.

She was in his mind, something he'd long ago thought lost. She knew everything about him. And he was learning everything about her.

He could feel the natural music of her mind, feel the wild, pure sound, the beat, the melody, and as beautiful as it was, he could feel something missing. So he did something he never thought he'd be able to do. As he stood across from her on that pyramid, he made her his wife, and in that moment he (the tesselecta) kissed her, he opened his mind as wide as it could go, enveloping her mind with his own, joining them together in a permanent bond. Every aspect of him was laid out for her, laid bare for her to see, his deepest darkest fears, his likes, dislikes, fears, habits, _everything_.

Even his name.

In return, everything that she was came flooding into his mind. He could feel his mind's music melding with hers. He could feel the love pouring out of her. He was crushed by the pain that coursed through her as they returned to that beach. He did the best he could to comfort her as she fired. And ever since that moment, he could feel her in the back of his mind. He could tell when she was because she was in his mind. He pitied everyone else in the universe, because they could never know _this._ The feeling of true connection. And he knew, ever since the first time, that his hearts did, will, do, and _always have_ belonged to her.

And hers to him.


	10. She can Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can run

** She can run: **

No matter what the situation, where they where, or _when_ they were respectively, she was right there beside them, step for step, hand in hand. Whether she was in her heels, or her running shoes, se never once faltered, never slowed, never left him behind, or fell behind. Because she could _run._

Rassilon, could she run.

She was always willing to run with him, to race, and tear through space at breakneck speeds. She could always keep up with him. With his mind, with his self, in every way. And... she was willing to run away with him.

She didn't judge him when he ran because he couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take the pain, the loss, the turmoil, the constant running, and the _knowing._ Couldn't stand knowing that Gallifrey was gone. That he was going lose her. That he couldn't save everyone. That he would always end up alone. _And that its all his fault._

And when it all got to be too much to bear, he'd put on a big, cheerful smile to cover the pain, and throw out his hand, telling her about some when, some where, else. And she'd look him in the eye, and he knew she knew. She knew, but she also knew that he _needed_ to run. So she'd take his hand, and fall in step right beside him. And then they'd run. Literally, figuratively, every way two people could run, they ran. And she was right there every step of the way, right beside him, perfectly in step. Because she could run. And he loved her for it.


	11. Cooking with Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooking with her

** Cooking with her: **

He finally found something she wasn't good at. Something he was better at.

She couldn't cook. At all. He found that out the hard way, when she was young, and so was he. It was just after their wedding day, and she had gone to make some spaghetti, when he came tearing into the kitchen after an explosion shook the TARDIS. He nearly skidded into his wife who was standing there, staring at the flaming pot on the stove. The _flaming_ pot of _water._ He quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher and put it out, before grabbing her shoulders.

"Are you ok? Did you get burned?" She shook her head mutely before she found her voice.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie," she whispered. He sighed and hugged her close.

"I don't care. I'm just glad you're ok." They went out that night, and from then, he cooked.

After he showed up at her place a couple times, and seeing takeout containers in the trash and all the leftovers that kept disappearing from the TARDIS in the fridge, he realized he needed to teach her to cook. First he needed to assess her abilities. He quickly realized how big a mistake that was after the flaming cereal, the charcoal grilled cheese and the uncooked Kraft mac 'n cheese. All of which he at least attempted to eat so she wouldn't be hurt.

So he started teaching her. Slowly, but surely, under his tutelage, she got better. She began to produce edible foods. He still preferred to cook himself, but now, he didn't have to risk hurting her feelings when she surprised him with a meal. But the best part was when he got to cook with her.

They would feed each other under the guise of checking the flavor, drink wine, laugh, and flirt. The close quarters the kitchen provided meant he got to spend a good hour or two just being with his wife, without coming up with an excuse. He didn't have to wander in to fix things that didn't need fixing, just because no matter how long they'd been married, he still didn't quite know how to act around her. But she was patient and he could tell that she enjoyed cooking with him for the same reasons.

An excuse to _just be_ , with a bonus treat at the end.

He was still wary of leaving River alone in the kitchen for longer than it takes to get a drink though.


	12. Being with Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being with her

** Being with her: **

Sometimes, he didn't want to run with her. He didn't want to dance. He didn't want to adventure, he didn't want to smile, laugh, _act_. He didn't want to do _anything_. He just wanted to hide. To hide from the darkness in his mind, that followed him everywhere he went. He wanted to hold his wife. He wanted to curl around her, to hide in her. To bury his face in her shoulder, or her stomach, close his mind off to all but her, breathe in his wife's scent, and just _be._

And she let him.

She never refused, never turned him away, never said she was to busy. She simply took him into her arms, held him close, and hushed him softly with both her voice and her mind. She would hum to him, or sing softly. Sometimes she would rock him, slowly, gently. Sometimes she would run her fingers through his hair, as he rested his head on her lap and they gazed at the stars.

The first time it happened, he snapped. Mitochorians had invaded Lithur 9, wiping out the entire Mali-Mali race. _And he couldn't do a thing to stop it_. Watching the attack, the _genocide,_ from the satellite prison they trapped them in, he... broke. Just broke. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the constant pain, the constant _loss,_ the always knowing, _always remembering_ , always breaking hearts, _every_ _time,_ he looked at his wife. He let out a strangled sob, sinking to his knees, fighting to hold back the tears, because he knew that if one escaped, the flood would start, and it wouldn't stop.

Upon hearing him, River looked around for danger, going instantly into battle mode. Upon finding nothing, she turned her gaze to him, slipping over to his side. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" She placed a gentle hand on his arm, just as a shudder wracked his frame. She understood in a flash, pulling him into her embrace, scolding him softly as he resisted. "I'm right here, Sweetie, I'm right here, and I always will be."

And then he broke, sobbing into her shoulder, clinging to her like a lifeline, whispering apologies brokenly, over and over not even knowing what for anymore. She simply held him. When the sobs eased, when he didn't shutter and tremble with very breath, he went to pull away, but she, knowing him as she did, held fast for hours, just letting him _be._ Letting him have a moment of peace. Letting him relax. She held him, massaging his shoulders and back gently, until he gently pulled away again, and they escaped.

Sometimes, it was _him_ holding _her_. _Him_ comforting _her._ Sometimes, _very rarely_ , his strong, amazing, beautiful wife, just... _broke_. Sometimes, their back-to-front lives, the constant state of losing him, seeing her parents, and knowing they have _no idea_ who she is... it got to be to much.

She used to disappear sometimes, for stretches of time so long, he'd get worried. But he couldn't find her, no matter how hard he tried.

Until the old girl decided River needed help, and lead him to his wife. His wife who was sobbing, in that full-body way, heart wrenching sounds escaping her. His hearts breaking, he knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Went she didn't instantly go into fight mode, he knew how bad it really was. This was further emphasized by the fact that she offered no resistance as he pulled her close, letting her sob into his chest, singing old Gallifreyan lullabies. Like she did for him, he sat with her for hours after the crying had stopped. She tried to escape, but he simply held her tighter, until, eventually, she went limp, before gently pulling away, kissing his cheek.

It took them awhile, but eventually, they began to seek each other out. Slowly, but surely, not only did they come to the other when they needed _to_ break, they began to seek each other out _for_ a break. It began in the silent hours after, when their breaths and hearts slowly synchronized. And then it expanded. He wandered into the library, just because she was in there. She sat in the swing under the console just because he was fixing things. They lay cuddled in bed. They watched movies. They learned the value of company. Slowly, their relationship became something _real._ It became inescapable. _It was theirs._ Together, they could just... _be._


	13. Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eyes

** Her eyes: **

He could literally see all of time and space in her eyes. an entire universe, and all of eternity in her mind, just like in his, and he could see it in her eyes. Her eyes were _beautiful. Gorgeous. Extraordinary. Incredible. Amazing._ She didn't get his preoccupation with her eyes, but she stared into his just as often. She would never admit, but both of spent hours watching the flow of Time and Space.

And it wasn't just that he could see the universe in her eyes. No, her eyes had a captivating allure all their own.

They were so _changeable,_ so hard to pin down. They were gray, but that one word didn't, couldn't, properly describe them. 'Gray' didn't show how dark and stormy they could become in fury or passion, so dark, it could almost be a new color. Or how light they became when she was happy, really, properly happy. 'Gray' didn't quite capture their shifting nature. How they could look slightly blue in one light, but have a faint green tint in another.

'Gray' did nothing to describe how expressive they were: how they glittered with happiness, glittered with that dangerous edge. How cold and hard they could be, like Coloriun, the hardest substance in the universe, when they ran into trouble, or how warm and soft they could be, like curling up by the fireplace with your love on a chilly day around children and the helpless and weak. Those eyes that could scorch, freeze, warm, and chill, all at once, depending on who was viewing them. How they hard she had to work to keep her secrets out of them. How mysterious they could be, how guarded, an enigma wrapped in a puzzle, inside a riddle.

He loved the stubbornness in them, the love, the pain, the truth, the lies, the hope, the happiness, the sorrow...

They were the window to her soul, those silvery-gray orbs. And her soul, was his soul. Those eyes, were the keys to his.


	14. The Way She Got Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting comfy

** The way she got comfortable: **

It made no sense to him why it took her so long to get comfortable, she was going to end up in one of five positions: laying with her head in his lap, sitting in his lap laying against his chest, tucking her feet under him, sitting with his head in her lap, or sitting with him leaning back against her. Meaning he had one of five jobs: Living pillow, living foot warmer, living blanket, holding still and holding her, or laying there calmly while she absentmindedly played with his hair. She would sit down on the couch, or the bed, and she'd start reading or whatever, and she'd be fine for a minute.

Then she'd start shifting around, changing positions, putting her feet up, one down, both down, grabbing pillows, shoving them away, tugging blankets around her, throwing them off. Eventually, either she'd give up, or he would end up on the couch.

But she was only that restless if he was there to be cuddled with.

She didn't do it on purpose, it just happened, and he found it both adorable and hysterical. Sometimes he wandered over and sat down. Other times, he allowed himself to be tugged down and cuddled with. Others she gave up, found him, and either cuddled him there or tugged him off for an adventure. Not that he minded cuddling, in fact, he adored it. However, her restlessness was really very distracting, and could she just _stay still a minute_ every now and then? Then again, if she did, they wouldn't get to the cuddling part... on second thought, the restlessness was great! Restlessness + River=cuddling, cuddling was amazing, ergo, restlessness is cool! Yeah, he could deal.

Especially if it meant cuddling with his wife. He liked that. The calm moments, filled with a quiet peace broken only by the rustle of pages or the scratch of a pen, and the soft noises of their breaths and heartsbeats.


	15. Getting Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting ready

** Getting Ready: **

She could take hours to get ready. And she didn't even really need all that time. She used it to fuss with her hair or worry if she looked ok. She could spend a half an hour on her make up and clothes and nails, and then she'd sit there fighting with her hair. And if that was done quickly, then she'd stand in front of the mirror, criticizing how she looked until she ran out of time or he came to get her. She could never accept that she was beautiful and it frustrated him to no end.

He had a solution though.

Every time he picked her up, or she showed up, he'd shower her in kisses and compliments. He'd tell her how beautifully, astoundingly, breathtakingly amazing she looked. She would smile softly and brush it off. And then she'd fuss just as much the next time.

She wanted to look flawless, and she spent hours on it. But that was ok. He'd wait for her until the end of time.

She was worth it.


	16. How Fussy She Gets When She's Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How fussy she gets when she's sick

** How fussy she gets when she's sick: **

It was the only way he could ever tell, because she'd never admit it. Not even to her father, and she _always_ told him, at least, if there was something wrong. She was, after all, Daddy's Little Girl. But when she was sick, the only way to tell was by how utterly cranky she got.

She _hated_ bed rest, _hated_ being coddled, and _hated_ to appear weak. She fought tooth and nail against everything that she could, but she couldn't just punch the flu in the face, much to her frustration.

the first time he experienced a sick River, he had landed in her office, excited for their date that night, he found her office empty. So he immediately went to the house she kept for appearances and emergencies. The old girl switched the brakes off herself, so he assumed that River was sleeping, so when they landed he carefully eased through the door and walked out in his sock feet, shoes clutched tightly in one hand. He froze when he saw River cuddled in a thick blanket on the couch. He slowly took in the room and noticed all the 'sick' stuff around. Just then she knocked herself off the couch in a violent coughing fit.

He immediately decided to take care of his wife... BIG mistake.

She pitched a _fit_. She refused to listen to him, she escaped the bed _and_ the house, didn't rest, didn't drink lots of fluids or have soup, and kept insisting she was fine. Two days later, he cracked and called in the big guns. Rory came in, Amy at his heels, and automatically River sat down and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Oh she still fought him, but she knew when to listen to her father.

He learned a valuable lesson from that. He also learned that if he suspected he was sick, he should have a human shield nearby if he was going to offer to take her bag, or to get her a drink, or any of the other small, everyday things that only set her of when she was sick.

Eventually he managed to get her to accept help, even without Rory's help. Eventually she grudgingly let them fuss over her. But she still hated it. And she still pitched a fit if they appeared to coddle her an ounce more than she allowed. It was down right _adorable_... but he didn't mind it. He liked taking care of her. He was her husband, after all.


	17. Always a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always a woman

** Always a woman: **

No matter what people thought or said about his wife, she was always a woman to him.

Some were of the opinion that she was a monster. To others, she was nothing more than a thief and a criminal. Still others called her a lady, or goddess, or queen. Amy and Rory still thought of her as their baby, their little girl. To her team, she was a great friend, and a somewhat motherly figure. To her students, she was the Professor, strict, but kind, smart, yet fun.

Anyone in the universe who had even briefly heard her _name_ had an opinion on who and what she was.

But not one of them ever truly stopped to consider if she was anything _more._ But she was. _So much more._

She was a woman. Always. Always a woman to him.

All those things; daughter, friend, wife, thief, they were all aspects of this woman. When Churchill asked him what happened to time, he answered the only way he could. An honest answer, in a way that summed up everything his wife was. _'A woman.'_

Once, after a particularly young River sent him a cry for help, he'd rescued him from the Silence to find that this River had only just been released from the hospital, and only just accepted to Luna University. He held the woman who would become his wife, and he let her cry, and he flooded her with regeneration energy against her protestations to heal everything that they had done to her. When her sobs had subsided, she looked up at him, tears still in her eyes, their tracks still traced through the blood and grime on her cheeks, and she asked him, voice breaking, _'What am I? Who am I? Why me? Help me, Please. What am I? Am I their_ weapon? _Am I a_ monster? _Can I be a_ good _person?"_

His hearts shattering, he replied, "You... you are a woman. A woman who can be kind, or cruel, depending on the occasion, but the greatest one I know. You care for some, and you are indifferent to others, and still others you hate. You're a thief, and a grafter, and a hacker, and a hitter, and a mastermind all in one. To some people you're a child, to some you're a shadow. But to me... you're a woman. A sum of every part. Special and unique, and absolutely _amazing_. You're worth any trouble you cause, because you can get out of it, and mine, with only a few hairs out of place."

He hugged her, and when she fell asleep, he put her to bed in their room on Sexy.

As she slept, he started humming as he wandered about, until he had a decent melody worked up. Without thinking he added in words, and created a song. A song that, he sort of recognized, so he wrote it off as his mind being too full of stuff.

It wasn't until weeks later, when he felt a major Earth-Origined song fading from the time stream, that he realized, the song was familiar, because he'd been writing it since he'd met her, and yes, it was a popular Earth song, that spread through the universe, but the writer always denied that it was his. He'd never listened to it before, but when he did, he realized that it was _his_ song, just cleaned up a little on the chords and such. So that meant that he had given it to him.

Excited at that prospect, he set the coordinates for Billy Joel, so he could give him the song.

And every time he heard the song from then on, he would smile, and seek out his wife, if she wasn't already there. Sometimes he'd sing it to her. She kept asking him why he was so obsessed with that song, and he'd reply, "Because, you're always a woman to me."

Because that's what she was. A woman.

She's always a woman to him.


	18. How She Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How she flies

** How she flies: **

She controls the Old Girl with the outmost ease, and has no problems going wherever, whenever, everywhere, and everywhen. Her confident hands caressed the controls as she dances around the console. She'll look at him, eyes sparkling, smiling wide, or one tugging at the corners of her lips, and laughing silently at him. He stared at her, sometimes grumpy, sometimes utterly entranced, content to just watch her. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn't watching, she'd have a little fun with it, and pirouette to pull that lever, plié to hit a button, camber to flip the switches. She really let go when she was flying.

He wasn't really surprised. After all, Sexy _was,_ in a way, her mother.

It made sense that River would be at her best at her console. She was a better flyer, (not that he was ever going to admit it) because of her unique bond with their ship. He didn't mind letting her fly, because it meant he could watch her. Watch her stroke the column, and whisper to her, like a secret he would never know. Watch her giggle and play with the controls just because she was bored. Watch her hum in concentration, with the 'I'm-doing-something-incredibly-hard/important-bug me-I-might-just-shoot-you' face that he found completely adorable, (and he _definitely_ wasn't ever telling her _that_ ) as she made a particularly tricky maneuver or landing.

He loved to watch her fly.


	19. She Jumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She jumps

** She jumps: **

She jumps.

She never hesitates. Never pauses. Never doubts. Never has a second thought. She just... jumps. She'll dive off a building, casually step back into an endless drop, calmly leap from a cliff. All because she knew he would catch her. And even though he told her he wouldn't always be there, and even though he knew he wouldn't catch her once, he still did hid best.

He raced after her, through time and space, hot on her heels, and always perfectly positioned to catch her when she jumped. And she knew that.

 _Rassilon,_ did she know.

Here he was, at her beck and call, watching her gracefully fall, only it was more like floating, just so that he could catch her.

She drove him _absolutely mad._

A wink and a giggle, a flirty wave and a smile, and then she was gone. She jumped. And like she was giving a little extra 'Screw you' to time, and fate, and their messed up lives, she more often than not chose to jump backwards. and then, when she was safe in his arms, she just didn't stay there. She never did that. As she said, 'Careful? Tried that once. Ever so dull.' And all he could say when people freaked out because she jumped is, 'Don't worry. She does that.'

And even when she wasn't jumping, the Universe always found a way to remind him. Like when he took her to a restaurant, and they got spotlighted to sing. And she sang:

_I've fallen out of favour_ _And I've fallen from grace_ _Fallen out of trees_ _And I've fallen on my face_ _Fallen out of taxis_ _Out of windows too_ _Fell in your opinion_ _When I fell in love with you_ _Oh-ooh [repeated]_ _Sometimes I wish for falling_ _Wish for the release_ _Wish for falling through the air_ _To give me some relief_ _Because falling's not the problem_ _When I'm falling I'm in peace_ _It's only when I hit the ground_ _It causes all the grief_ _Oh-ooh [repeated]_ _This is a song for a scribbled out name_ _And my love keeps writing again and again_ _This is a song for a scribbled out name_ _And my love keeps writing again and again_ _And again [x15]_ _I'll dance myself up_ _Drunk myself down_ _Find people to love_ _Love people too drunk_ _I'm not scared to jump_ _I'm not scared to fall_ _If there was nowhere to land_ _I woudn't be scared_ _At all [x4]_ _All [repeated]_ _Sometimes I wish for falling_ _Wish for the release_ _Wish for falling through the air_ _To give me some relief_ _Because falling's not the problem_ _When I'm falling I'm in peace_ _It's only when I hit the ground_ _It causes all the grief_

And he could only stare at her. And two days later, he caught her when she jumped yet again. She jumped. He caught. She was fearless, trusting, and utterly confident. He was just determined to catch her whenever he jumped. He never wanted to miss. He knew he would, but he'd find a way to catch her eventually. Because that's what she does. She ... jumps.


	20. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust

** Trust: **

She trusted him.

There had always been one aspect of River that unsettled him more than any other. It threw him, confused him, scared him... and yet... it warmed him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It filled him with a glowing pride, and made him feel loved, and important. Because...

She trusted him.

But this wasn't the blind faith of his companions, the desperation of the people he saved, or the tenuous belief of the people who followed his lead. This was _so different._

She _knew._ She knew _everything_ about him. All the good. All the bad. _All of it._ Every aspect of him.

And she trusted him anyways. With everything she was. Everything she had. Her life. Her mind. Her soul... Her heart.

She had given it all to him. All of it, because she trusted him. She never hesitated. Not even when she knew that they were in danger, their lives at stake, and he had no way to get them out.

_"Do you trust this man?"_

She never hesitated. She looked Father Octavian in the eye, and said: _"I absolutely trust him."_

But he truly knew how deep it went when he turned to her, and asked: _"Trust me?"_

And she looked him dead in the eye, allowing him to see just how much she trusted him, hiding nothing, holding nothing back and replied: _"Always."_

And in that moment, he knew just how deep, just how far that trust went. He had caught a glimpse of it in the Library. Back then, it had scared him to death. This time he felt something else. Something he couldn't quite name. But over time, he saw that trust again, and again, and it still scared him. But it also made him feel like he was invincible. Because if River trusted him, he could do _anything._

And he trusted her. Trusted her with _his_ life. With _his_ soul. With _his_ mind. With _his_ heart.

Because her trust, her faith in him, _was_ his everything.


	21. How She is When One of Them is Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How she is when one of them is hurt

** How she is when one of them is hurt: **

He loved it, he did, but he also hated it at the same time.

He puzzled two completely different reactions for one of them get hurt. Well, so did he, but that was different! he didn't need to be fussed over, but she did! She was still part human, and she just brushed it off when she was hurt! It was like she didn't care at all if she was hurt. Admittedly, they had twin reactions to injuries of self versus other.

Because if he every got hurt, River would absolutely lose it. Her eyes would go from that clear gray-blue-green to a deep, deadly, stormy gray. Her expression could either be a vicious snarl, or even worse, completely cold and devoid of emotion.  She would growl, or calmly, in a flirty voice, would tell the dead-creature standing just how dead it was. And then before he could so much as blink, she'd allow her training to take hold, and lay waste to any unfriendly in the room, never leaving her spot in front of him, guarding him from further harm. As soon as she stopped fighting, she would whirl to his side, dropping to her knees, and immediately running her hands over him, checking where, how, how many, and how badly he was hurt. She would then help him into the TARDIS, sometimes he'd have to lean on her, sometimes (rarely would he let her though) she would carry him. She'd bring him to the med bay, and help him lay on a bed, before lovingly, tenderly cleaning his wounds and stitching or bandaging them with gentle, careful hands and kisses. Then she would help him into his pajamas, and the Old Girl would shirt rooms so that they were comfortably situated in their room. She would make him rest by wrapping herself around him, turning herself into the 'big spoon', and refusing to let him move as she hummed and peppered him with kisses. And the entire time he was healing up, she would pander to his whims, reading to him and telling him stories until she was hoarse, bringing him tea and snacks, watching movies, playing games, and snuggling with him.

But if she was hurt, it was the exact opposite.

She would be nearly unconscious and still fighting tooth and nail. He would have to scoop her up and carry her bridal style to the TARDIS as he tried to save the day, and the second they were in the door, she would try to brush him off and act like she was fine. Hiding the damage. But he wasn't having any of it. And he's do the exact same things for her that she did for him. Where do you think she learned it? Where do you think he learned? The past learns from the future. Always for them. And eventually, just as he had done when it happened to him at her hands, she learned to accept being taken care of by the one she loved.

And on those days when they were both banged up, beaten, bruised, and bloody, they would help each other to the med bay, and take turns dressing wounds and kissing them better, then they would curl up in their bed, on their sides, facing each other, arms and legs wrapped around the other, as close as possible, and fall asleep. And the would let the Old Girl take care of them, giving them whatever they needed as they snuggled, and read, and talked, and played games until they were healed up enough to adventure again.

And he loved that she was that protective, that caring, just because he had gotten hurt. But it killed him that she thought she wasn't worth being fussed over. That her hurt, her pain, wasn't important enough to bother him with. She was worth so much more than him. _So much  more._


	22. She Loves Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She loves kids

** She Loves Kids: **

There were times when he couldn't look at his wife due to the crushing guilt he felt.

She adored children. All of them. Little aliens, teensy humans, babies, toddlers, tots, even teens. And he didn't know if she would ever get them. She would gladly babysit for her colleagues and friends at the drop of a hat. She never tired of playing with them. She happily sang songs, played games, and read books for hours. If they got fussy or upset, she would soothe them. She weathered the bad moments without complaint. She was a natural mother. The children adored her back. And every time he saw her with little hands tugging at her curls, small arms wound around her neck, a tiny body situated on her hip, teensy people running around her, and all of them laughing...

He felt so lucky, and so in-love, and so guilty.

Because for all he knew, he could've taken away any chance for her to have a child of her own, and even if they did have a baby, she would be brutally torn from them when she died.

But how could he resist her when she tugged him over to playgrounds and entertained happy, laughing children with a fairy-tale version of their adventures? How could he say no when she handed him a baby, or tot so she could tend to another child she was looking after? He couldn't. Children were as much his kryptonite as they were hers.

And then, one day, he managed to gather his courage and visited her in the library. And what he saw comforted him a little. River was playing with three children that he recognized immediately. Little Cal, and the two generated children, modeled off Cal's siblings. He just watched her for awhile, content in the knowledge that she at least had something to comfort _her._ And when he turned to leave, he could've sworn he saw her wink.

And 56 years later, when she plopped in his lap and told him that he was going to be a father, he kissed his wife, held her as tight as he dared, and spun her around in joy, laughing all the while. Because she was going to be the greatest mother in any universe, or any time stream.


	23. How Catlike She is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How catlike she is

** How Catlike She Is: **

She loved to cuddle. And she adored sprawling out in the sun.

Sometimes he swears he married on of the Nevinries, an alien that is essentially a time lord shaped cat. She would stretch, a full body stretch that had her bending backwards ever-so-slightly, before draping herself luxuriously over whatever she was lounging on, be it furniture, him, or a sunny, warm patch of ground. She would sigh and lean into his touch when he massaged her back, or gave her foot rubs, or worked the knots out of her shoulders, and sometimes he would catch her making a noise that sounded an awful lot like purring. And that wasn't even the half of it.

She hated water. Granted, it had taken him half a century to ease her extreme terror of being underwater after Utah, but she hated getting wet if she didn't consent to it. Seeing her sopping wet after an unexpected pipe burst or rain shower, curls matted to her head and a glower on her face never failed to make him giggle as he searched for a towel so he could dry her curls.

Having her wander into whatever room he was in, flop down on whatever article of furniture he was occupying, sprawl across his lap, and demand he give her attention only startled him the first few times. The first time he had no idea what to do, until he realized that she was contentedly listening to his heartsbeat, the sound of his breathing, and the rumbling of his voice beneath her ear. He figured out the second time that carding a hand through her curls would quickly send her into a peaceful, almost comatose, state. By the third he learned that gently massaging her head as he did so put her to sleep.

Lazy days were her favorite, because they could cuddle in bed until noon, and then they could find a nice park where she could sun herself and watch him scurry round having fun.

However, there were times he wasn't so fond of her catlike nature. Like when it came to waking her up when she didn't want to be woken. Or the fact that her long nails could be painful when they dug into his arm if she felt someone's gaze was lingering on him a bit to long for her liking. Or when her mood went from loving and playful to 'touch-me-come-near-me-look-at-me-breathe-near-me-and-I-will-end-you-by-ripping-you-to-shreds.' That was never fun, and it happened at least once a month.

However, he had to admit, curling up in a sunbeam with his wife was one of his favorite things.


	24. Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weapons

** Weapons: **

It drove him absolutely _mad._ Every time he saw her she had at least two weapons. _At least._ He'd pick her up for a date, something as safe as staying in, and she'd have a gun on her hip or thigh, and a knife in her boot. He'd take her out for a night on the town, and she'd have _even more._

It was a three-way tie for the position of the favorite weapon between her Alpha-Meson blaster, her custom made bow and bigger-on-the-inside quiver, and the long-bladed, razor-sharp, square-ended sword he’d personally made her for their anniversary after she’d complained she couldn’t find one that felt right in her hand. Personally, he thought she preferred the sword, as he found her hand wrapped around the leather grip on the hilt, or it’s worn, rather battered sheath clipped on her belt or laying across her back than even the blaster.

And she always insisted on him sparring with her, to keep her fit, and give her a real challenge. And he always jumped at the opportunity, because if that made sure she wouldn’t get hurt, he would do.

And the sight of her with a weapon was a reassurance when they ran into trouble. Because she had his back.

She handled them with a familiarity that both unnerved him, and reassured him. A testament to both her childhood and their adventures together. The competence she displayed with any weapon was something that admittedly excited him. And he didn't mind playing find-the-weapon either.

But did she have to have them at all times?


	25. She Likes Pretty Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She likes pretty things

** She likes pretty things: **

It happened so slowly, he didn't even realize that is was happening. Slowly but surely, his TARDIS, and especially his room, was being taken over by... things.

He opened the wardrobe and found an entire section of beautiful gowns and dresses. A room full of pretty shoes. A massive jewelry case housing every sparkly thing she owned. The shelves in the library were adorned with little bits and bobs, the console had the odd gauzy scarf or shoe hung on it every now and then. Their bedroom had acquired a beautiful silk and satin comforter, satin sheets, silk curtains, and plush carpets, with gorgeous wooden furniture, decorated with pretty little things.

Some of her pretty things were delicate, some only seemed that way. Some were odd, some sparkled, some glinted dully in the light. Sometimes, only River saw the things' beauty. But, everything she added was beautiful in it's own way.

He never really realized how much she was adding to his TARDIS until it was all around him, though he didn't really mind. It was very... River Song.

Though he never really understood her need to decorate the old girl with her pretty things. Not until he'd been married to her for nearly a century. He had given her a star, an actual star, just born, condensed into a crystal drop with a bit of extremely rare Time Lord technology, and strung on a chain made from silver mined from the Medusa Cascade itself, hence it's perpetual gleaming, sparkling, shining, and glittering, even in the pitch black of night. She slipped it off from where it sat, nestled just close enough to her throat, and just far enough away, and placed it back in his hand, gently closing hi fingers around it.

"Better keep this safe for me," she murmured sadly, "the guards will take it, they rarely allow me to keep my things like this. Clothes and things that I hide in the wardrobe are ok, but... sometimes the new guards take things they know I care about, before they learn better."

She had offered him a small smile and a half-shrug, before going back to her cell, and he smiled back. But his hand was locked around the delicate necklace in his hand, the one he had hand-crafted for her. How many of his gifts had they taken from her? How many times had she lost something to them? How many times had she tried to bring a little beauty into that ugly, horrendous, vile cell, only to have it stolen away?

No. More.

If _ever_ he _had_ minded her obsession with pretty things, and odd things that he had to look for the beauty in, with her guidance of course, it disappeared at that second. Vanished between one breath and the next. Instead he became a more active participant. Instead of simply showering her with gifts, he would help her find things to bring back. They would troll flea markets, and little known worlds, and find amazing things in unexpected places.

and every time he saw a new 'pretty' added to the TARDIS, his hearts warmed, and a small smile stretched across his face.


	26. She loves her job (even if he doesn't)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She loves her job (even if he doesn't)

** She loves her job (even if he doesn't): **

He understood why she was an archaeologist. Knew it was his fault, and that she had gotten hooked.

But he didn't have to like it.

To him, archaeology was just a bunch of made up stories. Just because something was found somewhere, didn't mean it belonged there. More than likel it fell out of his pocket. Or that of a time agent/traveler. Or the odd Time Lord.

She at least knew that, and therefor was able to distinguish between artifacts and accidents. Much better than her peers. And she taught her team that as well. And her students. And was making headway with her peers.

She was always calling him up on the psychic, and when he turned up frantically trying to figure out what was wrong, why she'd said emergency, she'd just chuckle, kiss his cheek, and tell him that she needed to get to a dig. Or needed an escort to an exhibit opening. Or she didn't feel like using the manipulator to get to class. He'd roll his eyes fondly, kiss her quickly, or tap her on the nose, and do her bidding.

And then there were the times when he'd show up to a dig, hoping to surprise her, and she'd be working, completely absorbed in whatever she was doing, slightly sunburned, and ignoring the people who tried to get her to stop. As a Time Lord, she had a superior biology and didn't need all the breaks that they took. However, they'd beg him to get her to take a break, and he would.

She made sure she never missed a single class, and her students adored her.

She was the best, and most dedicated archaeologist out there. He knew it. She knew it. Her colleagues and students knew it. Her family knew it. Everyone knew it. She was the best because she loved what she did.

He gat the privilege of seeing her light up when she found something buried or lost long ago. To see the way her eyes shone with happiness when he gave her artifacts, or books, or took her to see a long lost civilization. So of course he never complained about being used as a taxi service, or spending countless hours squatting beside her in the dirt, or the endless parades of museums and exhibit openings. He happily snuck into her classes to watch her teach and helped her carefully break into ancient temples and research papers.

He may hate archaeology with a passion, but he loved his archaeologist.


	27. The way she reacts to his clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way she reacts to his clothes

** The way she reacts to his clothes: **

He frequently picked some of the most ridiculous and outlandish clothing he could find, just to see her reaction. Hats with feathers, and sparkles, and buttons, and buckles, coats with zippers, and toggles, and tassels, and things. Odd scarves, and weird shoes, and wacky bowties. Her reaction always made him laugh. Sometimes she just crinkled her nose, others she made a face... and still others she 'killed' the offending items. It was far too amusing and easy to mess with his wife, and her sense of style.

Sometimes, however, she would mess with him right back. She would flirt with him as a distraction, until she was close enough to slide her arms around him, and grab his suspenders, snapping them. Hard. And he'd wince and sulk as she laughed, filling him with the rush of her amusement. Then it would be impossible not to smile at her, and of course, it was impossible to be mad at her. Angry? Upset? yes. Not mad though.

Then there were the times that she would give him that _look_ and she would have him out of one outfit and into another before he could blink.

And sometimes, sometimes he dressed to the nines. Perfectly styled, perfectly fashionable, and perfectly tailored to fit and flatter. Those days, he would see the gleam in her eyes, the mischievous tilt to her lips, and he'd find himself flirted into a stupor, and he'd share an enjoyable night with his wife, adventuring... partying...

And yet, most times, he found himself in his tweed jacket, a button-down, a bowtie, and his boots, sometimes paired with jeans, sometimes slacks, always with his suspenders. And she would shake her head fondly, grin a little, and wrap her arms around his waist, giving him a loving kiss. Because, he always knew... her doctor wore a bowtie. He wore ridiculous clothes, and odd accessories. He didn't like suits, but tolerated them for his wife. Her doctor had flawless fashion sense, but didn't care, except for her sake.


	28. How She Teaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How She Teaches

** How She Teaches: **

River loved teaching. And she was phenomenal at it. She wasn't like the boring teachers who stood and lectured, or assigned mountains of homework, or both. She was better. And her students all adored her. They all thought of themselves as 'Professor Song's Kids', and if she ever missed a day, she was mobbed current students, and former students, and students she'd only ever met once or twice, all making sure she was ok.

They didn't adore her because she was an easy teacher, or eager to please, but because she was River.

She was tough, and strict, and she made them work, but she was also fun, interesting, and engaging. She taught things in a way that was easy for her students to understand, she took them on fieldtrips to the past, and to her digs, and she kept her office open, with some version of herself, or her on a Communicator Screen, inside if they needed help. She didn't lose her patience, unless they were deliberately wasting her time.

She was kind to her students, and to any student on campus, offering an ear and a shoulder to those who needed it, and a mother-figure to all. Her apartment was a safe-haven for students. She made sure that her life with him never affected her job. Very rarely did he have to drop her off after a date, and even rarer did the students ever find out about her 'other life'. Like the memorable time when she had raced into the classroom a half-hour late, with him in tow, blaster in hand, ball gown in smoking tatters as she practically dove into her office. For the next ten minutes the students stared wide-eyed at the closed doors as they yelled at each other, the argument ending with a screamed, _"I HATE YOU! - NO YOU DON'T"_

Then she stormed out of her office in fresh clothes, and taught like nothing had happened, telling the class that that was her husband, and reassuring them that the fight wasn't nearly as bad as it'd sounded when pressed for details. They had worried something was wrong, but were mollified when she said she wasn't hurt, there was just an incident on their date night. When the news spread that she was married, there were many broken hearts, and many pleased faces. They all felt that she deserved to be treated like the lady, princess, queen, goddess she was.

She told little stories of her experiences as she taught, and had the highest rate of Doctoral graduates and successful archaeologists in her classes. She taught her students practical skills. She mothered them all. She took care of them, and they adored her. And seeing her surrounded by people who loved her, in no danger, happy as she could be, made his heart melt every time.

 


	29. She Flirts and Gets Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She Flirts and Gets Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... someone PMed me on fanfiction.net, since this story is up there too, and said I should do a series of little oneshot storie things, one for each thing on the list, and do a list of what River loves about the Doctor after this series is over. Tell me what you think? tell me if you want to see a thing like this story if you want.

** She Flirts and Gets Jealous: **

River Song is a flirt.

Always had been, always would be. It's part of who she is. And he wouldn't have her any other way. But sometimes, he went absolutely insane because of it. Whether because of _her_ flirting, or because _someone else_ was flirting with her.

She was a natural flirt, with a very 51st century mindset, and a natural beauty that people gravitated too without realizing it. Including him. But he knew the affect she had on him, and she knew it too. It was written in every move she made or thing she did.

The tilt of her head and the curve of her lips as she looked him up and down. The way she twisted a curl in her fingers as she bit her lip. The way she swung her hips, or batted her eyes, or giggled, or the way she spoke to him with a purr in her voice, or a husky note that drove him crazy. The way she tossed out innuendos with a careless 'spoilers', just to make his blood boil. The way she blew him a kiss after painting her lips red, or teasingly undid his bowtie and slid it from his neck, only to turn and walk away. Or got so close to him that the only thing not touching were their lips before she pulled away.

Yet, whether she was being coy, understated, or subtle, or brash, overt, or outright, she was never less than a lady in her flirtations.

She never rubbed herself against him or dressed like a harlot, or acted lewd and crude. Rather, she made a point to comport herself with a maddening decorum, when all he wanted was his wife in his arms. And to dress in a way that emphasized her body, while covering it decently, showing her beauty and her flair, and her natural curves in an elegant way.

Though that was sometimes a problem.

When people saw her, and how beautiful she was, they automatically tried to flirt with her, no matter the species, or the gender most times. They flirted with her, and she'd absently flirt back, no meaning behind it, but it still made him jealous. Or, what truly raised his ire, they'd be flirting, and she would refuse, turn them away, threaten them, and they would still try and force themselves on her, making sexual overtures that had her fingering whatever weapon she was carrying, seriously considering using it. They were the ones who found themselves on the other end of his rather impressive right hook, or worse if needed. And then she would smile at him warmly, and say, 'My Hero', and kiss him quick, in a clear show of the fact that she was his, and he was hers.

But then there were the times when her feminine wiles and allure got them out of an otherwise sticky situation. He hated those even worse... Not that he was the jealous type! Not at all! No, that was all River!

If another person tried flirting with him, or even looking at him, she would make sure to stake her claim in the most blatant, obvious way she could... not that he didn't, but that was... different.

If she was holding his hand or arm, her grip would tighten, sometimes to the point of pain, with her nails digging into his flesh. Her eyes would narrow minutely, and she would begin flirting in a way she didn't usually. This flirting walked the fine between River and Captain Jack Harkness. Whenever someone triggered this response, they usually got the hint and disappeared, then leaving River to pull him in for a searing kiss, that he knew everyone saw.

And no, he never responded that way.

And no, neither of them allowed the flirting for such a response.

And no, River and Jack had never met with him in the immediate vicinity, they were lying, those pictures were fakes, and they were just EVIL!


	30. Focused and Absentminded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Focused and Absentminded

** Focused and Absentminded: **

She possessed the unique ability to demand time bend to her will and have it comply through sheer determination and force of will. Where he would deny that time was the boss of him, she was the boss of time. He dared time to try and deny her when she was so focused on what she wanted.

That laser like intensity was one of the driving forces behind the Treaty of Ama'al-ga-lashdreyan'di, the Rescue of Cortan 4, _and_ the War of Raxa-palmori'ito, to name a few. When she focused on something, nothing could stop her, nothing could sway her, nothing could distract her, and hardly anything could slow her down. There were times when she was surrounded by gunfire, explosions, his panicking, some screaming, the occasional ship plummeting to some planet below, and the less rare impossible terrain, in a ridiculous, impossible situation, and she's calmly helping him talk their way out of it, or jerry rigging, repairing, or cannibalizing something to get them out of there, usually while one or both of them is hurt, singed, bloody, filthy, angry, running on fumes, and scared. There were times when she was so completely focused on an artifact or such that she was burnt red by the sun (or suns), had skipped several meals, and was running on less sleep than him. Then it was a bad thing, when she was so focused that she ignored her own needs, or him, so he had to tend to her wounds, or sunburn, and coax her to eat and drink while she was doing whatever, and he could never get her to sleep.

Rory and Amy could.

He couldn't.

And then there were the times that her single-minded intensity was honed in on him. On flirting with him, or teasing him, or what have you. He never quite minded it then.

And, as if to make up for that ability, she would turn around and become the most absent-minded, scatter-brained being he'd ever met. She would use her pen to secure her hair in a bun, or tuck it behind her ear, and then panic not five minutes later when she couldn't find it, and he would laugh, and show her exactly where it was. There were days where they would have to delay dates, or her drop off at work, or her return to Stormcage, or a visit to her parents, or what have you, because she couldn't find her shoes, she'd misplaced her briefcase, her keys were gone, her lipstick wasn't tucked away in it's usual place, she'd lost her gun, and her coat wasn't hanging up where it should be. And so they'd spend an hour or so hunting everything down.

The shoes and coat would nearly always be in the vicinity of the console, _('Now I remember! I left them here when I went to the study.')_ the lipstick and keys would be in his bedside table, _('Oh, that's right, I couldn't tell who's was who's in the dark.')_ the briefcase would be under the desk in the library or slung across the couch in her study, _('Oops... forgot I put it there, I was in a hurry.')_ and the gun would either already be attached to her person, or it would be neatly put away with his bowties and her other small weapons. _('I don't remember putting it on/away.')_

Sometimes she couldn't remember the name of someone they'd just met, or even someone they'd worked with for years. She'd forget the titles of her favorite songs, or books, or movies. She'd forget why she'd come into a room. She was forever putting something down and forgetting it.

At first, he'd been scared that it was her human side catching up with her, but Amy and Rory had assured him she'd always been that way. When he ran tests, he'd found that it was due to the repeated memory wipes through her formative years and adult life. It'd made him furious.

But he never minded either side of that particular coin. Because that, to him, was just the way his River was. Absent-minded and focused all at the same time.


	31. She Gets Her Hands Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She Gets Her Hands Dirty

** She Gets Her Hands Dirty: **

She was never afraid of hard work. In fact, she embraced it whole heartedly. He couldn't count the number of times he'd find her covered in dirt or soot or mud, dripping in sweat, working on something or other. Or the amount of times she dived headfirst into danger and dirty work with him, where most of his companions would usually cringe away. She actually enjoyed it, though that would be kind of obvious, as her whole career was digging in the dirty. Plus, you know, she married him, knowing full well what kind of messy situations he got into. That wasn't to say she liked it when it ruined her clothes. It was a good thing Sexy did laundry and mending, because otherwise, River might just kill him. As many times as he was the cause of the ruination of her clothes and shoes, as many times as they got ripped, burned, soaked, muddied, dusty, bloody, sooty, gooey... yeah, he'd be a dead man if it wasn't for Sexy.

Of the myriad of companions who'd met River, most of them met River not when she was stealing something, or slinging guns, or perfectly done up, but when she was filthy, tired, and bloody. They would gape at her as she waltzed in, kissed him quickly, and headed to the shower towing him along, or appear out of nowhere, covered in mud from head to toe with a tool in one hand and some artifact in another and brush him off, saying she was busy, or show up last minute to save him all splattered with blood and guts.

Her team had always seen her as the scholarly, ladylike professor, even though they'd been to countless digs with her, because even when she was filthy, she was still a lady, still a _queen_. Her professors had expected her to be a consultant, and never get her hands dirty. Her students were always surprised to learn that she went on digs. Because river exuded an aura of perfection, danger, ladylike ad perfect. But River was really just a mud rat like her colleagues, friends, and him.

But it was times like that that he felt most comfortable with her. He in his worn, sometimes grubby clothes, scuffed shoes, and usually oily hands and face from working on the TARDIS, and she smeared with grime and sweat. Just two hardworking people who got their hands dirty and didn't mind. Those times her perfectly manicured nails would be broken and filthy and her curls flying everywhere. His hands would match hers, rough and broken and dirty, hair an unruly mess. And at those times, he would swear that that was when she was at her most beautiful.

No makeup or dress could ever compare to work clothes and dirt. River could be fully regaled as a Lady, and still not be as breathtaking as River working. Because as much as he loved her, as beautiful as she was, and how amazingly, stunningly, flawlessly perfect as she looked all the time, it was when she looked imperfect and flawed that she was the most beautiful, because it was a side to River that not many people realized, that not many people saw. The hard working, rough and tumble, down to Earth woman that he loved, who willingly, happily got her hands, and the rest of her, dirty if needed.


	32. How Well They Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Well They Fit

** How Well They Fit: **

It was like she was made just for him. Not just as his bespoke psychopath, but as his perfect other half. Her hand fit perfectly inside of his, just the right size for twining their fingers together. Her arms wrapped around him easily for perfect hugs, and she was short enough that he could rest his cheek on her head if he wanted. But she wasn't so short that he had to bend down too far.

They could snuggle together, and his arms just fit around her perfectly, and she was just the right size to sprawl across him, without hurting him. When they ran together her stride matched his, no matter that his legs were so long. And she rarely got in his way when he was doing something, except when she would wiggle her way into his lap while he was in the jumpswing under the console. She fit perfectly there too.

And it wasn't just the way that her body physically fit against his, but also the way her mind could keep up with his when it was racing a million miles a second, when he couldn't explain but needed her to know. The way her double hearts beat with his. the way she knows what he needs.

The way he always knows what she's thinking, the way he always knows what she needs. The way he can easily scoop her up and cradle her to his chest. The way his life naturally flows around her, and hers flows around him, both easily, naturally fitting the other into their lives.

Because they were a perfect, flawless fit. It didn't mean they never faught, never got angry, it meant that they wouldn't stay mad, because they were meant to be.


	33. The Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Notes

** The Notes: **

They were literally everywhere. They found their into books, tucked between pages and scrawled into margins. They were tied carefully by his bowties and tucked into the console. They were taped to the mirror, stuck to the fridge, tucked in every piece of clothing in the TARDIS. They were carved in cliffs, jotted on constitutions, etched into diamonds and marble and precious stones. They were inlaid in gold in palaces, traced into moons, written into stars, and woven into time itself.

He always stopped for a moment just to smile and savor those little love notes. And the big ones. River had a habit of leaving them, everywhere and anywhere she could. In every language. In every form. Statues, peace treaties, artwork, love letters, nothing was too big or too small for his River. After all, she had literally stopped time just so they could get married.

And he, in return, left his own. He papered his office and classroom in them. He stuffed her bags full when she travelled. He turned her into a goddess, and a famous model for art throughout time. He told her story a million times. He bought sixteen million galaxies for their anniversary. He scribbled in her favorite books, taped notes to their door at the Ponds'. He composed poems and ballads and tucked them among her jewelry, bound in priceless jewels and metals.

They hid them in the cookie jars, and boxes of tea. They used Amy and Rory to ferry them around. They hid them in famous songs and literatures and works of art and documents. And it might've been naughty to 'graffiti' everything that they have, but they didn't care. It was just a way for them to reassure each other, and themselves, of love. The kind of love that never died. That could sneak up behind you and catch you by surprise, no matter how long it's been since you fell for each other. That's what the notes were for.

And none of that, nothing that they did, ever compared to the notes they passed on the psychic paper. For all their note passing, they never seemed to run out of things to say. They would spend hours in conversation through the psychic paper, to allow each other the privacy of their own mind, and quiet in their thoughts. Through the psychic, they would talk about THEM: their relationship and what exactly it was. What he meant to her, and what she meant to him. It was over the psychic that he would ask her about her day, and she would let him babble on about whatever he wanted. To an outsider, they would seem so... disengaged... two people twined around each other, and yet completely absorbed in separate novels.

And how wrong they were.

They were caught up in the greatest love story, tragedy, comedy, and history of all time, surpassing that of Shakespeare himself by an universe of emotion and nuance.

And the only record of it was in an infinity of love notes.


	34. Her Competence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her Competence

** Her Competence: **

River Song was capable. She knew her way around his- their TARDIS, and could both fly _and_ repair the old girl as well, sometimes better, than he could. She was right on par with him in her ability to assess a situation and come up with a plan in a split-second on the fly. She could handle near about every weapon she picked up. She was an incredible teacher and archaeologist. She could do just about anything.

But not a one of those was her true area of expertise.

No, that would be _him_.

River Song was amazingly competent, but she was at her best when dealing with him.

She took care of him, and half the time, he didn't even realize it until the deed was done.

When he was caught up in doing something, too busy to consider sleeping, she would sigh and pad out, asking if he could turn up the heat because it was 'too cold', and he would. She would do it several times before he decided that cuddling was probably warmer for her. Or she would tease him back and force him to lie down.

She would ask him to make her a snack, because she couldn't cook, or couldn't reach something, and he'd drop everything and fix her something to eat, and end up eating as well. Or she'd shove something in his hand while he was zoned out, order him to eat it, and he'd eat it automatically without realizing it.

She was quick to keep his ego in check, usually his voice of reason, and the one person who could keep the emotions he kept so tightly in check from overwhelming him and wrecking havoc. Quick with a reality check, a weighted barb, a joke, or a comforting word, whatever he needed. She was the one who could pull him from his depression, who could sooth his raging fits, who could make him laugh in spite of himself. She could trick him and taught him into doing things, make him preen like a peacock, make him giddy as a toddler.

She could also make him absolutely furious at her when she sensed he needed to yell and scream and rage. She would taunt him mercilessly, frustrate him beyond belief. It was what she did.

Because of all the things she did, River Song was the most competent when it came to her Doctor.

And when he finally caught on to what she was doing, he vowed to become as well-versed in her as she was in him. To be as competent at handling River as she was at handling him.

And slowly he learned how to do the same things for her.

How to coax her away to eat and sleep. To drag her into the shower, or off to have fun. How to tempt her, and tease her, how to temper her violence and rage. How to keep her naivety from being her downfall, or her training from causing her pain. How to help her when she needed it, and how to give her everything she needed.

He loved her for her competence, and in return, she too loved him for his.


	35. Her Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I post this up on Tumblr?

** Her Hearts: **

River Song had heart. She cared about so much, and yet, it could all boil down to so little. Her hearts.

So often, River didn't go with her head, but her hearts. She would steal, kill, vandalize, destroy, topple regimes... anything, if she felt in her hearts that it was right. She moonlighted as a hired 'mercenary', who rarely accepted any sort of payment, as the jobs she usually did were to get back stolen treasures or life-support systems, or locate a lost cure, or save some poor race from extinction. And yet, she was also capable of extreme loathing and hatred with those hearts of hers. You didn't harm innocent people. You didn't hurt her friends. You _never_ touched her family. And, most importantly, you never touched a hair on his head. Not if you wanted to live. Sometimes it would seem that the sheer rage and fury held in those hearts eclipsed the compassion and kindness.

He knew better. He knew that for as great as it was, as many as it was held against and directed at, that darkness was only the smallest part of her hearts. That was his River.

She cared about too much, and all the ruin, the pain, the horror that they encountered in their lives hurt her so badly. With such open, loving hearts, River was so vulnerable and easy to hurt. Though she easily hid it from everyone else, she could never hide it from him. He was far too attuned to her, and knew her and her hearts far too well. Though she could seem utterly heartless to some, he knew the truth.

And then there was the simple fact of River's _hearts_. Hearts. Two of them.

He had thought he would never hear the sound of a double heart beat ever again, save his own. He used to sit in silence and listen to the pulse hammering away in his ear as a sort of comfort. And then, he heard hers. He had picked her up from where she was sprawled across the couch in the library, one night early on in their acquaintance. He had just found out who she was, had just been to Demon's Run, though it was well before Berlin and Mels. He had scooped her up and found himself cradling her close to his chest as he searched for a room, before he went utterly still in shock. At first, he'd thought he was imagining it, but then he stood there in utter silence, listening, feeling. He felt his own pulse, thundering away as shock filled him... and he felt the slow, gentle, deliberate beat of River's hearts, thrumming in her chest.

And then he was elated, feeling and hearing that familiar double rhythm in one he held so dearly.

And now there was many a time would he would just lie still and listen to her hearts pounding away under her skin, feeling them call to him.

Yes, he loved those hearts, and all they were capable of.


End file.
